Consolant
by Delina
Summary: Mimi has just died, and Mark and Roger are feeling the effects of the loss.
1. Chapter 1

Author's note: I made a few revisions to this story because of one of my readers' comments in regards to how long it would take an HIV test to come up positive. Thank you to my reader, you made a very good point.

Mark Cohen could hardly believe that this was really happening. This man, Roger Davis, was holding him for all he was worth, trying his hardest to be strong. The most important woman in his life was gone, having fallen victim to combination of a drug addiction and the dreaded AIDS virus. To Roger, this was nearly as bad as dying himself. Mimi Marquez had been everything in the world to him, even more so than April had ever been. Mimi had been taking her AZT regularly, and had tried her hardest to kick the addiction to crack, but being so sick to begin with after returning to Roger, it had been a matter of only a few months before she was worse than even Angel was just before he had died. Today had been Mimi's funeral, and although he had held up his composure during the tiny service and the subsequent family/friends gathering in the apartment after the burial, Roger was now a complete wreck. He had fallen into Mark's arms shortly after Collins and the girls had left.

"Mimi… Why…?" Roger whimpered. "Why did she have to leave me so soon?"

"It'll be okay, Roger," Mark said. "She's in a better place. She's with Angel."

"And April…" Roger said softly. He smiled slightly, thinking about it. "That's a cat fight waiting to happen."

"Yes, think about good things," Mark said, looking into Roger's eyes. In those eyes was a sadness that Mark had never seen. The nearest to that he had seen in those eyes had come when April had died. Mark still remembered with utter gut-wrenching pain three years ago when, in the bathroom of the same apartment they still lived in now, the two young men had found the girl in the tub, her skin white and completely lifeless, blood from where she had cut her own wrist running down the drain. Roger had been the first one to see the horrific scene, and had screamed before rushing to the toilet to begin retching up what was still in his stomach from breakfast. Mark had run in, seen what was going on, and stood there speechless in disbelief. Just like now, Mark had held Roger in his arms during the long nights before and after the funeral.

"I think they'd have gotten along well if they'd known each other," Roger said. "They sure thought alike, that's for sure."

"They picked one hell of a stud," Mark joked, but Roger looked at him with a very serious expression. Then, in an act that almost resembled desperation, he leaned in and kissed him. Mark almost gasped, his eyes wide with surprise, but then those eyes closed as he began to enjoy it. It had been a great while since he'd been kissed by anyone, and he missed feeling like this. Finally coming back to himself, Roger pulled away and looked at the man next to him.

"I'm… I'm sorry," he said. "I don't know why I did that."

"It's okay," the other man said. He was slightly disappointed, but realized that Roger needed to work through things in order to get back at least some semblance of a life.

"Thanks for being so understanding, Mark," Roger said. "I hope you don't think I'm a freak for doing that."

"Do my actions give any hint of me thinking you're a freak?" Mark said, a playfully questioning look on his face. "If I thought that was freaky, I wouldn't have been such good friends with Collins and Angel. Believe me, there's a hell of a lot freakier things in this city than that." They sat down on the couch, content just to be with each other, not wanting to take things too far and scare the other. Roger's eyes now showed hope for what that kiss could mean for _their_ future. "Stud-muffin…"

"Yes, Pookie?" Roger said, almost giggling.

"Roger!" Mark scolded, punching him in the arm lightly.

"Sorry, I just had to," he said with an all-out laugh.

"Oh, fuck you," Mark said, shaking his head.

"Is that damn camera still running?" Roger said as he looked over to the table where the small camera lay, just happening to be pointing to where they had just been standing. It had captured the entire tender moment between them.

"Sorry, I'll turn it off," he said, suddenly slightly embarrassed. As he grabbed the camera and flipped the switch, Mark chuckled. "I've recorded so much pain in the last two years from us and our friends. Sure, there've been some great times, but with Angel dying, and now Mimi too, I find it so hard to believe that I haven't gone crazy from going over and over what I've been filming and splicing together to make my movie. But it's moments in my films like what just happened to us that make it all worth it, even if I'm not directly a part of it."

"Mark, I should tell you…" He stopped, realizing what Mark's statement meant. He was trying to say something without vocalizing it directly. He would cherish the memory of the moment they had just share forever, even if it was the only time it ever happened. "I should tell you how much your friendship means to me, and me kissing you wasn't just a moment of me being on a rebound. Yeah, it was a sudden impulse, but I don't regret it."

"I want to understand even just a little bit of what you've dealt with," Mark said, sitting back down.

"Don't say things like that, Mark," Roger said. "You leave someone behind who loves you when you die of this, and for them it's the worst pain imaginable."

"To me, it doesn't matter," he said. "The man I love is going to die before I do anyway, so what does it matter?"

"The man you… love?" Roger was dumbfounded. He'd never imagined that Mark's feelings were so strong. "Do you really feel that way about me?"

"Yeah," he said simply.

"Is this a recent development?"

"Sort of, but at the same time not really," he said. "I've watched you go through so much and wished I could be the one you were holding for comfort in the darkest times."

"I honestly don't know what to say," Roger said, looking away. Mark reached out his hand to Roger's chin, turning him back to face him.

"Look at me for a minute," Mark said in a soft, yet commanding voice. "It's okay if you're unsure of yourself right now. We all are. But don't deny your feelings. If you feel like running away, run away for awhile, then when you feel like coming home, come home. I hope that when that happens, you also feel like coming back to ME."

"I wasted time doing that with Mimi," he said, gazing deeply into Mark's eyes. "I ran away from her because I wasn't sure if I wanted to love her just to have to say goodbye to her. But right now, I know that you won't leave me, and that I won't have to live without you. I just worry that…" He trailed off, seeing by the look in Mark's eyes that he understood. Roger knew that Mark would have to live without him, and he didn't want to put him through that. "Are you sure?"

"Yeah," Mark repeated, and that did it. Roger leaned in and kissed Mark again, and this time he responded immediately, his hands coming to Roger's face. His tongue slipped past Roger's lips, and he heard a soft moan escape against his mouth. They broke the kiss, and Roger began to kiss Mark's chin and neck. "Roger…" Mark wound his fingers in Roger's hair and felt Roger's hands moving down to his hips. "Oh, god…" Just then, a beeper went off, and the phone began ringing.

"I gotta take this," they both said together, then they laughed. As Roger went to the bathroom to grab his pills, Mark tried to regain his voice and composure before he answered the phone.

"SPEAK!" said the answering machine in both their voices.

"Hey, Roger, Mark, it's Benny," came the voice of their friend. "I just wanted to let you guys know that I'm opening a savings account in Mimi's honor… for AIDS research. I hope you guys approve. I'm going to advertise it in the Village Voice so we can get some more publicity about it, and we can probably get Alexi to do a spot on it on the show."

"She'll probably want ME to do the damn spot," Mark grunted loud enough for Roger to hear him. "I appreciate the gesture, but they can all go to hell."

"Why are you getting angry?" Roger said, coming out of the bathroom. For the first time since Maureen had left him for Joanne, Mark was suddenly becoming very flustered. It was so strange to see that behavior in him, and it worried Roger. "Are you okay?"

"No, I'm not," he said. "I've… Oh, god, this is bad…"

"What the fuck is it, Mark?" Roger said

"I'm sick."

"Excuse me?" he yelled. "What do you mean you're sick?"

"I've been using again, like I did when I was a senior in high school, and…" Mark's eyes clamped shut as he dreaded having to tell the man that he loved such horrible news. "I'm HIV positive."

"Oh my holy god," Roger cried. "Are you fucking serious?" Mark nodded, and they both sat down on the couch again. Now, Mark was crying his guts out, and his eyes were the ones full of despair, and Roger was the one who was holding his friend in a very dark time. "When did you find out?"

"Last night after work," he said, a desperate cry in his voice. "I didn't want to tell you immediately because you'd just lost Mimi, and I thought you'd hate me if I'd told you that I was on smack again."

"When did you start up on it again, Mark?" Roger said, trying to soothe his lover's nerves, but not really succeeding.

"I was going through some of Mimi's stuff while she was in the hospital the first time," he explained. "She had asked me to bring her some of her favorite old music so she could dance up that tunnel of white light she went through before, and meet up with Angel in her outfit from the club. In fact, that's pretty much how she said it." Roger smiled sadly. It sounded like her. "I found… I found some little bags of the powder tucked away in the bottom of the trunk she told me to look into, and one of her needles was in the dresser drawer. Things had gotten so bad and… I couldn't stop myself. I stole it, and it's in my safe so you wouldn't find it." Embarrassed, Mark lifted his shirt sleeve and showed Roger the bruise from the elastic band he'd used to make his veins bigger, and it was easy to see the remnants of prick holes near his elbow. "That's why I was so out of it for a while. My body wasn't completely used to it yet. Mimi was the only person I told I was using it, and we… She and I actually shared a few needles."

"Why would you… use a needle that you know has the virus on it?" he whispered into Mark's hair.

"Because I wanted to die," Mark said. "If the crank didn't kill me, I wanted to have the disease that's killing off my best friends, including the man I love!"

"Mark…" Roger cried. "It's a fucking cycle. One person has it, they finally find someone they can really be happy with, and then that person either gets it or has it already. One of 'em dies and the other one has to try to move on and find someone else. When that finally happens, that other person has to watch THEM die too. It's just not fucking fair."

"Just fuck me and get it over with," he said in desperation to feel something besides absolute pain. That was all the permission Roger needed before he once again pressed his lips to Mark's with a passionate kiss that Mark had never experienced from ANYONE in his life. "Oh, god, Roger…" They made love slowly that night, and Mark would never forget the feeling of his first time with another man for as long as he lived. While it wasn't Roger's first time with a guy, he treasured this time that he was sharing with Mark. He'd never loved any of the guys he'd been with. They had just been spur-of-the-moment things, and had lasted no more than a few days at most, often not lasting through the next day. But as Roger held Mark in his arms, kissed him, and felt himself inside the filmmaker's tight, wanting body, he realized just how much he needed to feel something for his lover. The sighs, moans, cries, and screams of absolute ecstasy lasted long into the night, and when they were completely satiated, they lay in each other's arms and just talked.

"I love you, Pookie," Roger whispered.

"I love you too, Stud-muffin," Mark said, laughing at his lover's use of the word that Maureen had always used on him. He realized that while the word was used like this, in a completely genuine, loving way, he didn't mind being called Pookie. When Maureen had used it, she had always been asking for something. That bitch had always wanted something, whether it be food, sex, or some very worldly possession. As he thought about it, he realized that this was the first time he'd really felt such animosity toward her. Perhaps it was because he'd finally moved on, and wasn't going to be alone anymore.

"I'm gonna miss you," Roger said.

"What do you mean?" Mark said, coming away from his thoughts. "I'm not going anywhere for a long while."

"I mean when I go," he said. "I'll miss you because I'll be away from you, and because I know that you'll be lonely until you go too."

"I'm gonna miss you too," Mark said. "You'll have all these great people to catch up with. Angel, April, Mimi, and probably Collins the way he's going downhill so fast right now."

"We really have been a fucked up bunch the last two years, haven't we?" Roger said. "By the end of it, the only ones in our little family who aren't going to die from AIDS are Joanne and Maureen. I've accepted the fact that I'm going to die, but I never imagined that someone else that I love was going to face the same challenge of missing ME when I'm gone."

"I don't care how long I have to wait to be in your arms again after you leave," he said. "But when I die, I want to know that you'll be there to meet me when I get to wherever it is I'm going."

"If the man upstairs will let me, I'll do anything," Roger said. The two men kissed again, and then snuggled down together under the covers on what would now be called their bed. No more of one of them sleeping on the couch and the other sleeping in the bed, trading off every couple of nights. For as long as they lived, this would be the bed that they would share, whether the night involved sex or not. They soon fell asleep, but not before Roger began humming the tune of a new song he was writing. As he whispered the words in Mark's ear, Mark smiled sleepily and just listened.

_When I go away from you, _

_Please don't be sad_

_I'm watching you from up above, _

_Heaven's not so bad._

_The love we share, _

_It's wonderful_

_You make this feel like home, _

_And my heart and soul are full._

_When we meet on the other side_

_You'll see me as you see me now._

_Forever and ever, I'll be by your side_

_To kiss you, hold you, love you once again!_

_Oh, Darlin', I love you…_

_Darlin' I love you…_

"Oh, Darlin', I love you," Roger sang again.

"Have you recorded that song yet?" Mark said after a minute or two of silence.

"No, I wrote it because Mimi wanted me to write a song about how she felt, and what she wanted, but I didn't finish it in time for the funeral," he said. "But now I realize that it's not just her that needs that song. I need it 'cause you're the one who I'm going to leave behind. That song is for you."

"Thank you, Roger," he said, kissing him briefly.

Mark woke up early the next morning. Roger was laying there, looking as innocent as a child, until he heard the sound of Mark's hacking cough and felt the short-haired man move quickly off the bed. Roger knew all too well what was going on. Mark was already showing intense signs of HIV disease beginning to tear away at his fragile body. Sitting up quickly, Roger saw Mark, still completely naked, run to the sink to spit out an alarming amount of blood. Finally able to breathe normally, Mark came to himself and turned back to the bed.

"I didn't mean to wake you up," he said. Instead of saying anything, Roger reached his arms out for Mark to come back to bed. "I'm sorry you had to see that."

"It's okay, I'm used to it," Roger said. "Until my body got used to the AZT, I did the same thing. April hated it when I'd wake her up in the middle of the night, but it stopped after a few days. It'll probably be the same for you."

"God, I sure hope so," Mark said. He saw Roger looking at him in loving admiration, and blushed slightly.

"You're beautiful," Roger said.

"Thanks," he said skeptically.

"Oh, come on, Pookie," he said. "You don't need to be embarrassed. I like watching you because I love you, not to mention you're incredibly hot when you're naked."

"How charming of you," Mark said.

"You're not going to get all paranoid on me, are you?" Roger said. "Come back to bed, please?"

"It's too cold not to, but give me a minute," Mark said with a small smile. He reached into his pants pocket, still laying on the floor from before, and pulled something out. Before Roger could say anything, Mark pulled a pinch of something that he could only guess was powder cocaine, and took a big sniff of it.

"Mark, stop it!" Roger cried. "Come back to bed, and stop snorting that shit! You saw how I was when I was on it!"

"Help me, Roger," he whimpered, realizing what he was doing after it was too late to stop the effects of the hit.

"I can't help you unless you want to help yourself," Roger said. "I don't want to lose you too, at least not until I die too. I don't want to watch another one die from an addiction!"

"Oh, Roger…" Mark said, finally succumbing to the pleading man laying in front of him. He climbed back into bed, and Roger wrapped his arms around him. His feet were still a little cold, but the rest of his body warmed up immediately, just from the immense heat that Roger was emitting from his own body. "Mm, much better."

"Comfy?" Roger asked.

"I'm warm now, at least," he said. The cocaine was taking its toll on his senses, but he could still feel his lover's arms holding him tightly, holding on for dear life. "It's amazing how much a little body heat can warm up a space. The rest of the apartment is frigid, but right here the temperature is comfortably sweltering."

"That's a bit of reasoning that most people probably wouldn't understand," Roger said. "But I get you." Several minutes of silence allowed Roger to begin to nod off, until a passing thought on Mark's part caused the young filmmaker to pose a question.

"So, how are we gonna tell everybody about these recent developments?" Mark asked. Roger's eyes flew open. He hadn't even thought about how they were going to tell Collins and the girls about both Mark's sickness and cocaine addiction, and their relationship with one another. Collins would probably laugh, and Joanne probably wouldn't have too much to say about it because she was, for the most part, happy with Maureen. But what would Maureen herself do? In her own fucked up, perverted, twisted, bitchy way, she had always loved Mark, and still did. The majority of the time, she didn't show it at all, but when things got really bad, she would make sure that Joanne was okay, and then rush to see how Mark was holding up. It had been a while, but she still used the same old pet name for him, Pookie.

"I… I don't know," Roger finally said. "Maureen's gonna flip."

"Yeah, I thought about that already," he said. "But let's talk about this in the morning, okay? I need to sleep this stuff off now before I get the urge to take some more."

"Mark, if you feel the urge, and I'm asleep, wake me up," Roger said. "I'll hold you down and keep you from taking it until the craving passes."

"Thank you, Stud-muffin," he said.

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Around 8 the next morning, Roger woke up to the smell of someone making pancakes on the stove. Wait, when did the ingredients for pancakes get brought into the house? He sat up and stretched, and was met by Mark's loving smile. He was wearing one of his mother's old aprons that she had sent him for Christmas, and Roger couldn't help but notice how cute he looked in it.

"Want some coffee?" Mark asked. Roger looked at him with a confused look, once again wondering where all the extra food had come from. The last he'd checked, there wasn't any coffee left in the pantry, let alone a box of pancake mix. "I found a charity box from Life Support by the front door this morning when I went out to get a paper, in case you're wondering."

"They do that every time someone in the group loses the battle," Roger realized aloud. "The family, or the significant other, or sometimes both, gets something from them."

"Yeah, and you were the obvious choice, I think," Mark said. "I think you're the only family Mimi really had."

"It feels strange, doesn't it, that we're using charity food and money from them, not to console ourselves over Mimi's death, but to celebrate our first morning after?" Roger said, looking at Mark with a sweet smile. "I'm sure that Mimi wants us to be happy, but it almost feels like we're playing on her memory."

"That's a bit of reasoning that most people probably wouldn't understand," Mark said, mimicking his lover's words from much earlier that morning. "But I get you. Anyway, like I said before, do you want some coffee?"

"Sure, just as soon as I get dressed," he said.

"Aw, do you have to?" Mark said teasingly, grabbing his pants.

"If I ever want to get out of the apartment this morning, I'm going to have to," Roger said, leaning over the counter to kiss Mark good morning. "Love you."

"Love you too," he said softly. Just then, the phone rang, and the normal one-word intro began.

"You know, we're going to have to change that now," Roger said. "You're mom's gonna freak when she hears that her little boy is gay."

"Oh, God, don't even remind me," Mark said. "Dad's gonna laugh his ass off. He always seems to balance out Mom's quirkiness."

"Hey, guys, it's Benny," came the voice on the machine. The two men looked at each other and rolled their eyes. They were friends with Benny, but just wanted to get left alone. "I hate to do this, but I'd appreciate it if you guys would help me finish moving Mimi's stuff out of her apartment. I don't want to sound like a heartless bastard, but I need to re-rent the place. Also, I'm not sure if you got the message about the savings account in Mimi's name. I could really use the support, if you guys wouldn't mind. Please, let me know. Thanks. Bye."

"Go to hell, Benjamin Coffin," Roger spat at the machine as it clicked off. "He's right, he does sound like a heartless bastard." He slammed the cup down on the counter and Mark could hear it crack.

"Easy, Rog, you'll hurt yourself," Mark said sympathetically. He wrapped his arms around Roger from behind, nearly smashing his glasses against his long-haired lover's shoulder. Roger closed his eyes and let out a sob as his face lifted to the sky.

"Fuck!" Roger cried out. Mark had known from the beginning that this was going to be a very difficult time for both of them, with Roger missing Mimi incredibly, and Mark struggling again with a recurring addiction. Speaking of addiction… Mark pulled another small bag of white powder from his pocket, letting go of Roger for a few moments. After taking some himself, he carefully placed a small bit of the powder between his thumb and index finger, lifting it to Roger's nose. Realizing what was going on, Roger jerked out of Mark's embrace and smacked the bag out of this hand, the powder spreading everywhere, now completely unusable. "Get rid of that shit, Mark!" He nearly smacked him, but then he imagined that Mark would probably leave him if it came to blows, and he couldn't take that right now. Instead, he roughly dug through Mark's pockets, searching for any more of the tiny bags.

"Roger, stop it!" Mark said.

"No, I'm not going to," Roger said. "I won't have any of this shit in our apartment! You saw what it did to Mimi, what it did to ME! I won't do that again! I'll hold you and help you like you did when I was going through withdrawal, just please, don't buy this shit anymore!"

Just then there was a LOUD pounding on the door and a familiar voice cried out in desperation. "MARK! ROGER! Please, open this damn door!" Joanne screamed, sending all thoughts of their argument careening out of their minds. Hearing their friend scream like that brought back horrible nightmares of the night that Mimi had nearly died. Mark sped toward the door, nearly tripping over the coffee table and a nearby chair on his way.

"What is it, Joanne?" Mark chocked out.

"It's Maureen!" she said, trying to catch her breath. "Collins is with her, but she's… We think she's had a heart attack!"

END OF CHAPTER 1

Author's note: I hope you like the first chapter. Sorry it took so long to update, but with my work in Japan picking up speed, I haven't had a whole lot of free time. Thanks for the comments! Please post more!


	2. Chapter 2

Consolent – Chapter 2

Disclaimer: I do not own any of these characters. The late great Jonathan Larson is responsible for the wonderful musical Rent! Thank you!

So many things were running through Roger and Mark's minds. What had been happening when Maureen had gone down? Was she dying? How was she feeling? What was actually going on inside of her weakened body? Where was she? Was she awake? Was she even aware that there was anyone around her? Why her anyway? Why now? Why did they have to face the possibility of losing her so soon after losing Mimi? If she did die, what would Joanne do? Would she leave the area to get away from all the painful memories that the last two years had brought to everyone? Of, a somewhat happier thought, would she bring a new friend with the same vivacious and spunk into the group, beginning a whole new chapter of waiting for the next person to lose their battle with AIDS? No, they couldn't think about losing Maureen yet. No, please, God, don't take her yet.

Collins met the three of them at the hospital. His eyes were red from crying, his cheeks wet. The last time he'd been in this particular hospital had been when Angel had died. The memories of it were ripping him apart, especially since he knew that he could very well be repeating the process of losing someone else today, and his own death could very well take place here too. He could feel Angel's presence in the room, and though this was a great comfort to him, it worried him that she might be there to "pick her up," as she had promised to do for Collins when it was his turn to go. Shortly after Mark, Roger, and Joanne arrived at the hospital, so did Maureen's parents. Mrs. Johnson was almost beside herself with worry and grief. Mark looked at his watch, then to the door leading to the E.R., and then back to his watch. Why wasn't someone coming out to tell them anything? Didn't they care that a dozen people were out here waiting?

"You okay, Mark?" Roger said, and Mark shook his head before resting it on Roger's chest, tears springing to his eyes.

"I'm so worried about her," he sobbed. "God, why did this have to happen _now_?" Roger kissed the top of Mark's head, fighting back tears of his own. This embrace was familiar to him – holding the shaking body of someone he loved as they tried with everything they had to control themselves from whatever it was, whether it be withdrawal or uncontrollable sobbing. He'd held April like this when she had found out that she was HIV positive, and he had held Mimi like this when he had found her in her apartment, her body drenched from sweating out a fever caused by withdrawal, and now he was holding Mark as he sobbed over what might be the death of a woman that he still loved. Even though Mark had moved on from the end of their relationship, he still held such strong feelings for her.

After nearly two hours of waiting, a doctor finally poked his head into the small waiting room, a tired look on his face, but beyond that his face was blank. Joanne stood, looking at him expectantly. They knew each other, and he gestured for her and Maureen's parents to come talk to him in private. Everyone else watched them leave, wide-eyed and incredibly worried. Even through the closed door, they could hear Joanne's screams of agony, and they all knew that Maureen was gone. Roger didn't and couldn't say anything as he felt Mark become cold and almost deathly still, his emotions having become so overwhelming that his body couldn't take it anymore, and he had passed out. Roger just held him, trying to channel some of his strength into Mark's body. A nurse became aware of what was going on and began to walk over to check on Mark, but Collins stood and held out his hand to tell her to stop.

"He's okay," Collins said. "He needs to deal with this himself." The nurse nodded silently, and went back to her desk.

"Thanks, Collins," Roger said softly, and Collins looked down at them with a small, sad smile.

"When did you two…?" he said, moving his finger in front of them.

"Last night," Roger said.

"It fits," he said. "You dogs have been friends for so long, ya fell in love with each other. But why did it suddenly come up?"

"He told me because he just found out he's HIV positive," Roger said, and Collins gasped.

"Oh my god," Collins said. "How?"

"He and Mimi were sharing needles," he said. "He got it from her."

"He's using again?" Collins cried.

"Yeah," Roger said. Before Collins could get angry or give a shocked reaction, Maureen's parents walked sullenly back into the waiting room. Joanne wasn't with them, having been escorted to where Maureen's body lay to say her final goodbyes to her vivacious, long-haired girlfriend. Roger sighed. "Yet another relationship comes to an end." That made four between all of them in the last year and a half alone. First Mark had lost Maureen to a relationship with Joanne, then Collins had lost Angel, Roger had lost Mimi, and now Joanne had lost Maureen with no hope of ever getting her back. Roger was reminded suddenly of a TV show he'd seen a few years back of a young black military woman losing her spunky, vivacious white pilot boyfriend in a dogfight. The scene of her clutching the sheets of the bed he had been placed in, her heart breaking and tears streaming down her face, was what he imagined Joanne was doing right now at Maureen's bedside. Like Maureen, this pilot had left behind so many friends, who had all been shocked and perturbed by the news of his death.

Beside him, Mark began to stir. He opened his eyes, staring straight into Roger's, and he smiled softly. Sitting up, he looked around the room, and saw that everyone was looking at him. "I saw Maureen. She was wearing that outfit from the protest. She told me to tell her mom and dad that she loved them, and to tell Joanne not to be too sad for her, and that she was okay, and she'd be waiting for her. She kissed me, and said 'give that to Joanne for me.' And yes, Angel and Mimi were there too, coming to pick Maureen up." Once again, Collins had to smile sadly. Someone else had delivered a message to him from his late boyfriend. The name Angel hadn't been just a cute alias. It seemed obvious that it was a reality – Angel was just that, an angel.

"My baby…" Mrs. Johnson said softly. Impulsively, Mark pulled out of Roger's embrace and walked over to where the parents were sitting, and squatted in front of them. "Oh, Mark…"

"I can't express to you how terribly sorry I am that you have to go through this right now," Mark said, taking her hand in both of his. "I hope you understand how much I enjoyed having Maureen as a friend. I enjoyed the time that we were together as a couple, but I just had a lot of fun being around her when we were just friends too."

"As flamboyant as she was, she always made us smile," Roger said, walking up and putting his hand on Mark's shoulder.

"She was always good for a laugh, that's for sure," Collins said.

"She was lucky to have such good friends," Mr. Johnson said, his strong voice cracking slightly. "We can see that you loved her, especially you, Mark."

"Yeah, I did," Mark said. "With everything bad that was happening in my life when I met her, I'd almost stopped caring about much of anything. But her high-strung spirit brought me back to life, just like Mimi brought that back into Roger." Roger swatted Mark's shoulder with a slightly pissed off look, and Mark squealed. "Ouch! What the hell?"

"This isn't supposed to be about me!" Roger said.

"I'm just using you as an example," Mark said.

"How are you faring, Roger, in your own loss?" Mrs. Johnson said, trying to compose herself.

"You mean Mimi?" Roger asked, and she nodded. "Well, it's been pretty rough, but I'm doing okay, I guess." He took Mark's hand and kissed it softly. "I found feelings for someone just as special to me, and that's helped a great deal."

"Well, Roger, you're very lucky," Mr. Johnson said with a small smile. "We had hoped that Maureen would settle down with you, Mark, but since she didn't, we still want to wish you and Roger all the best."

"Thank you," Mark and Roger both said.


	3. Chapter 3

Cream of Mushroom Soup

When they arrived home several hours later, the boys had a number of messages on their answering machine. One was from Mark's mother, and another was from Alexi Darling, asking where Mark was. But another was from someone that Roger knew all too well, and someone that Mark was becoming acquainted with more and more all the time -- the drug dealer.

"Cohen, why the hell won't you pick up your fucking phone?" said the message. "You better get this message before Rog catches you, or else I'm out another customer."

"Too late," they both said, smiling at each other.

"I want to get my life back," Mark said. He knew that he would spend many days and nights fighting the urge to shoot up or snort. His film having been a huge hit, they currently had enough money that he could take time off when he needed to in order to cope with it, and he was sure that Alexi would understand, especially with Maureen's death. It had, after all, been Maureen's concert that had given him the opportunity to get into a decent job, which had subsequently gotten him recognized as a very talented filmmaker. Of course, she had no idea of his addiction yet. One thing he worried about was if she would fire him because of it. Perhaps not, he reasoned and hoped, because he was trying hard to quit.

"Hungry?" Roger asked, pulling out one of the cans of soup that they had received that morning. Mark nodded, sitting down on the couch and flipping the power on the TV. They had gotten enough money into savings that hey had been able to afford a TV and VCR, with just the basic Mickey Mouse ears antenna for signal.

"Distraction…"

"Distraction." Roger smiled. This was going to be one of their quietest evenings at home. Perhaps he should just sit back and relax, and enjoy his lover's company. Or perhaps something else was in order. He fixed the soup and brought it over to where Mark was sitting. He studied the young blonde with a smile. Yes, perhaps the meal would immediately be followed by dessert. "Here you go." As careful as he was trying to be, the soup spilled on his hand and he nearly dropped the bowl as his hand began to burn. "Take it, take it, take it! Ow, ow, ow, ow!"

"Ooh, sorry," Mark said, taking the bowl quickly and watching Roger shake his hand off. "You okay?"

"I'll live," he said. Mark set the bowl on the table and took Roger's hand.

"Do you mind if I have a little Stud-Muffin with my soup?" Mark said, playfully licking off some of the spilled soup. Roger chuckled.

"No, I don't mind," he said. "But you need to eat first, so that you'll have plenty of energy." Making a somewhat evil face, Mark thought to himself that there was something that he wouldn't mind licking right now. "And I mean food, not me."

"Mind reader," Mark joked. While Roger returned to the kitchen area to retrieve a couple of beers from the fridge, Mark quickly opened a small bag of reserve that he'd been hiding in his jacket, and poured a small touch of it into each of the two bowls. The stuff was pretty much tasteless with food, dissolved in liquid quickly, and Roger would think that his strange behavior was because of the alcohol, which always made hits better. For the first time that he'd remembered, he'd lied to his lover. He didn't want to have problems with Roger, but he also didn't want to give up the drugs. He just hoped that Roger wouldn't go too overboard when he found out he'd been tricked, if that happened. What Mark didn't realize was that Roger's eyes were on him. He wasn't angry, really. He wanted the pain to go away too, and this might be his chance to do just that. The alcohol would make it worse, but perhaps this was what he needed right now. It was a morbid thought, but perhaps if they both overdosed on drugs, at least one wouldn't have to live without the other, and Mark wouldn't have to spend the last years of his life alone. He would die with the man he loved, and they would be together in whatever awaited them in the next life.

"Here's a beer," he said. As they ate, they talked, and drank, and drank some more. The twelve-pack that had been sitting in storage for a long time was gone in a matter of less than an hour, and Mark was riding on the absolute high that the combination of drugs and alcohol was causing. Roger was too, but not quite as much as Mark. After their meal, they made sure the door was locked, and they began to make out, harder and heavier than either of them had ever remembered making out before short of actually having sex.

"I love you, Roger," Mark said between kisses.

"Love you too, Mark," he said, kissing Mark's neck and moving up to his ear. Mark moaned, the feeling of teeth on his earlobe having always made him incredibly turned on.

"Oh, God…" he said. He didn't want this to end, this feeling of absolute ecstasy that was now consuming him. Roger, although not as high, was now craving more of the white stuff, his body remembering well what it did for him.

"More…" he said. "More white stuff." Mark froze. He knew. "Don't worry, I'm not mad. I could've stopped you, and gotten angry, but I needed this too."

"Roger," Mark said. He looked away, ashamed of himself for forcing Roger into the situation, when it had taken him so long to rid himself of the problem. Mimi, Angel, and Maureen would've been ashamed of him too. "I shouldn't have done this." He pulled out of the embrace and turned away from Roger.

"Hey, it's okay," Roger said, wrapping his arms around Mark from behind. "I told you, I want this. I don't want to feel any more pain."

"You saw how fast the disease took Mimi," he said. "I shouldn't have done this to you."

"I'm on the downhill anyway, Lover," he said. "You know that."

"We all are, Roger, but that doesn't mean that you have to make the downhill steeper," Mark said. "I have to get out of here."

"Wait!" Roger cried. "Where are you going?"

"To the graveyard," Mark said.

"NO!" Roger nearly screamed, grabbing Mark by the arms and kissing him fiercely, tears in his eyes. "Please stay with me. Help me forget!"

"Roger…" Mark whispered.

"Please, Pookie," Roger cooed. Mark fell into Roger's arms, and began to cry hard again. "Hey, hey, it's okay. It's okay."

"I love you so much, Roger," he sobbed.

"I love you too," he whispered back. "I was serious, though. I want more of the drugs." Mark looked into his lover's eyes in amazement. Roger was actually willing to go back to the drugs to satisfy the cravings of his pathetic lover? "Go get the needle." That cinched the deal. Mark knew that he had never done things properly unless Mimi had been around, and now someone with just as much experience would share the thrill with him as well.


	4. Chapter 4

Don't Keep Me Waiting

"My dearest Roger," Roger read after opening a letter from his recently-departed lover. "If you are reading this letter, I have taken the first jump into the new life that awaits all of us when we die. When we agreed to write letters to each other, I never imagined that I would be the first to go. Even though, as I'm writing this letter, I don't really know what to expect on the other side, I know that when I get there, I'll be greeted by Mimi, Angel, and Maureen, and then we'll wait for you to come too. You know that I love you. That won't ever change. Thank you for always being there for me, and for keeping me on my feet through the worst times. I will never forgive myself for starting you back on drugs, and I hope that it doesn't do to you what it has done to me. Take care of Jackie as long as you can. All my love, and I hope to see you soon, Mark."

Roger lay in his hospital bed, next to the bed where his lover had spent the last day of his life. It had been one of Roger's better days physically since they had both been placed in the hospital as permanent patients, being able to stay alert and contented to just spend time with Mark. But mid-morning, something had gone terribly wrong, and Mark had slipped into a coma. Shortly before his death, however, he had awakened long enough to reach over and take Roger's hand.

"Roger…" he had said weakly. "I love you, Stud-muffin."

"I love you too, Pookie," Roger said. "Please, Mark, don't go yet."

"You knew it was coming, Roger," Mark whispered. "You may have had AIDS longer, but something hit me that has killed me so much faster. I hoped that we wouldn't have to spend more than a few hours apart, but I didn't get that. I'm okay, Roger." Roger squeezed his hand, and Mark rolled over onto his side and shared a final kiss with Roger. "Goodbye, my songwriter."

"My filmmaker," he whispered. "I'll be with you soon."

"Don't make me wait too long," he sighed, turning back over onto his back, his eyes still locked on him. With tears in his eyes, Roger watched his lover's sight fade, heard his breathing slow to nothing, and felt the grip on his hand slacken. As this had happened, Roger had felt his heart breaking, and he knew that he was going to go soon as well, not from his own terrible sickness, but from his broken spirit and heart.

"Hey, Dog," Collins said, walking in slowly, using a cane to assist him in walking, even with the severe pain.

"Collins," he said. "How are you feeling?"

"I'm okay," Collins said. "How about you, Rog?"

"Not good," Roger said. "I'm not going to be around for much longer. I can't live without him, Collins."

"Don't talk like that, Man," he cried. "I've lived without Angel for nearly five years, even though I thought I couldn't either."

"You don't understand, Tom," Roger snapped. "When Mark died, I felt the last bit of my will to survive anything break away from me. I want to keep my promise to him and not keep him waiting any longer than I have to."

"Roger…" Collins sighed, kneeling next to Roger's bed and taking his hand. "If you really feel that way, then no one can stop you. I hope you find who you're looking for. It's all right, you can go."

"Collins, take care of my girl for me," he said, a smile gracing his lips at the thought of the little dog, Jackie, that they had given to Collins when they had been put in the hospital.

"I will," he said. On an impulse, Collins leaned in and kissed Roger's lips. "Give Angel that for me, okay?" Roger chuckled softly.

"I'll see what I can do," he said with a smile. "You haven't kissed me since high school, right after you came out and you said you wanted to kiss me."

"I'll never forget that," Collins said. "I'll certainly never forget you, either. I'm just surprised that I managed to outlive both of you guys, and I've had it longer."

"Roger!" came a soft cry from the doorway as Joanne entered, interrupting the conversation. "I came as quickly as I could."

"Hey, Joanne," Roger said, his voice becoming weak. "Tell Kim to come in too." In the couple of years since Maureen's death, Joanne had struggled with grief, until recently when she had met a new girlfriend by the name of Kim Sterling, a new attorney that worked at the same firm.

"Hi, Rog," Kim said, and Roger waved back.

"I'm sorry that I couldn't get here before Mark went," Joanne said.

"Ts'ok, Jo," he said. "At least he knows you're here." He began to cough, bringing up a little blood. "He's waiting for me, so I gotta go." Joanne kissed his forehead as his eyes closed, and his rattled breathing became less and less until it stopped all together.

"He's gone…" Collins said softly, tears in his eyes. "I can't believe he's gone."

"I can't believe you're going," Joanne said.

"I can't believe this family must die," Kim said. "They helped us all to believe in love."

"No one here can disagree," Joanne said.

"I can't believe this is goodbye…"

Goodbye…

The End.


End file.
